A Family Curse
by SV Green
Summary: Naruto, an orphan living in Leaf Village slums, is hunted by a powerful enemy for no reason other than living. Naruto must master the arts of his dead family if he hopes to repel an arcane conspiracy decades in the making. NaruHina Rated T for gore.
1. Chapter 1

_The Family Curse_

_**Author's Note**_

I know it's been a while since I've written anything...but it's not like I have fans or anything...or even many readers. This is my first horror-fic with a little something for the fangirls thrown in (*cough* NaruHina *cough*), so be kind. I'm going to use this first chapter to gauge interest, so if I get none then I let the story die. Read, enjoy, review etc etc.

_The funny thing about the future is that it's never what you expect. Someone might be on their way to work and be run down by a bus. Some may find this preferable to going to work. That someone may end up with an insurance payout and never have to work another day in their lives. My point is that life can take us far from where we expected to be (eg _not to work_), and this story is a perfect example...a story about an unassuming boy without a clue where life was headed._

Naruto Uzamaki's cheek was cold. Considering it was rested against the cold iron of the bus shelter, this was not all that surprising. Then the wind picked up, twirling the falling raindrops like silk into the bus shelter. Now his cheek was cold and wet, which is also unsurprising since it was raining. This left Naruto rightly less-than-impressed with the concept of a bus shelter which failed to actually shelter anything except possible resentment at its lot in life.

He sat there, garbed in all the finery an orphan's allowance allowed, which had soaked in an impressive amount of moisture over the past half hour. A half hour of waiting which had yet to yield a bus, which was very nearly a half hour late. Naruto waited some more and his mind drifted, like that piece of rubbish in the puddle, which bobbed with every raindrop that disturbed the surface. There were an awful lot of puddles, he reflected, probably due to the pockmarks of use and neglect.

Naruto looked down at the one forming from the drips that belly-flopped from the rim of the roof down into a crevice that had been left by shoddy road repairs. He caught his reflection in the dim half-light of the rain clouds, and frowned. He yawned, and watched the whisker-like marks on his face curve. At his age boys usually lost the chubby rounded aspect of their faces, leaving them with something of an adult face. He was still waiting for his body to realise it had a face to change and get its butt in gear. He made faces at his reflection, who incidentally made them back. If his face made him look immature, he may as well act the part.

His game of 'Look how long my tongue is' was interrupted by the sound of a bus engine roaring up the street. Naruto rolled his eyes and stood, throwing a sarcastic sweeping gesture its way.

"Where the hell have you been!?" he yelled. The bus hit a road-crater full of water on its way past, dousing Naruto's flaming annoyance with a stagnant wave of street-water. The briny taste of it hit the back of his throat and his stomach flexed. He doubled over and vomited a watery mix of breakfast and street-water into the gutter, wincing at the bitter tang left in his mouth. He was now well and truly soaked and, he decided, unlikely to get any wetter so he walked the rest of the distance to school.

The people he walked by probably noticed a particularly distressed youth travelling against the crowd with his head down, soaked, shivering and possibly crying...but it could have been rainwater running down his whisker-marks.

Something sat on the rooftops coldly observing the crowd. Something that really shouldn't be there. She, if she could be described as a she, watched Naruto make his way to that mundane building he nearly always went to, with all those darling children. Sheka reigned in her appetite and focussed one liquid-yellow eye on the blond as he pushed against the flow of pedestrians. She waited there, watching with her many liquidly-yellow eyes with sharp, slitted pupils. Her dark, tangled black locks danced in the breeze, casting strands over two of her eyes. She brushed them back with tentacle-like fingers. Her lanky body consisted of only red-white striped limbs, like something half-way between striped stockings and tentacles. She had no torso, just a long tube connected to her striped limbs, which eventually led to her oval head. Sheka's fingers curled and writhed with excitement. It would be soon. Very soon.

_____________

People stared and some sniggered behind their hands as Naruto dragged himself down the lino corridors, leaving a snail-trail of rainwater. Despite being soaking cold, his cheeks flushed with heat and resentment. He looked like a pathetic idiot, trudging down the hall with his blond hair plastered to his head like a swimming cap and his clothes sticking to him like a cumbersome shell of cloth. His shirt chaffed where he'd been hit in the ribs during training. He felt someone touch his shoulder. Hinata Huga stood behind him, wringing her hands and looking at him with warm grey eyes.

"Naruto! Um...I...what's wrong? You're wet...I mean, what..." she mumbled awkwardly, occasionally looking up but avoiding eye contact. His eyes made her thoughts swim.

"I'm fine Hinata." His flat tone made her hesitate. As she fumbled for what she was going to say, someone in the crowded corridor bumped her from behind, sending her sprawling forward. She grabbed for the nearest thing, which happened to be Naruto's tracksuit. He fell forward on top of her, blushing red. They were practically face to face. Hinata felt Naruto's heart beat against her lungs, and she felt the flex of muscles as he lifted himself off her, clearly embarrassed. If her father found out he'd lock her up. She stuttered an excuse and walked away, hoping the incident didn't reach her family's ears. Naruto eventually walked away in a daze as the memory of her perfume and skin set like stone in his mind.

It was late afternoon. The shadows cast by the final rays of the sun stretched across Naruto's like bars. The stalls and performers of the market had pretty much left for home; only a few stragglers remained, hurriedly packing and tying. Robberies and vandalism weren't all that uncommon in this district, and no one wanted to be outside after dark. He felt a prickling between his shoulder-blades and walked a little faster.

The boy began to walk a little faster. This suited Sheka fine. She was bored of moving so slowly and longed for the disjointed platforms and jagged pillars of home where every stone glowed red-hot, but her life wouldn't be worth living if she didn't complete this last task. She scaled one of the buildings as the boy dipped out of view, then stood atop like a perverse gargoyle.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note**_

To those wondering where the hell I've gone, I haven't been able to log on lately due to rather embarrassing technical problems which will remain nameless. I'll be posting my chapters through a good friend of mine who's been kind enough to agree (anime-pixie255), so if it's been too long between chapters harass her. Now, I'm introducing a new main character, Yodaime (as in the hokage who put the fox-demon in Naruto). Just thought I'd warn you. Speaking of warnings, there will be some graphic scenes later on kiddies, so don't read it if you're underage. Read, review etc.

**Chapter 2**

A house of dark woods and dignified architecture stood on the fringes of the respectable town thoroughfare. The town had long since grown around it, leaving a no-mans-land of closed shops and empty lots like a crater around it. The house had been home to many over the years, but misfortune and unexplainable events had always befallen the occupants. The ornaments and toys sticking from the front lawn were a testament to this. The lucky ones had had time to pack scant belongings and flee, the less fortunate were buried in the gardens in the backyard.

Yodaime's scarf caught in the wind as he walked from the street up through the dense growth between him and the house. It occupied mansion-like grounds, with dense forest and once-manicured gardens existing symbiotically almost everywhere on the premise. All that remained of the orderly care was an overgrown path uphill to the house, the shrubs, weeds and tree roots reaching out from the sides to reclaim the path. It was early evening, just past sunset and already an unnatural chill had filled the air. The wind seemed barbarously cold as it reached through layers of clothing and chilled the skin underneath. His blond hair flicked and blew in the heavy breeze. The trees creaked and whispered, making dancing shadows along the path and waving as if beaconing him into the murderous depths of the forest at night.

Shapes flitted on the edges of his vision, and strange sounds and half-voices called out from either side, crying out to him. He knew all about the malicious tricks the land played, and paid no heed. Yodaime tried not to look. His otherworldly senses, sharpened by years of demon-hunting, were ringing in his ears like sleigh-bells. The manor was trying to bewitch him into leaving the path. Maybe the path was safe from the murderous intent of the land, he thought. It had made every effort to lead him off the path, and hadn't harmed him yet so he assumed the path was safe, for reasons unknown. He pushed out with his mind against the urge to jaunt off into the trees, and felt the cold, liquid chakra fizz from his core and outward like a shell. He shut out their enchantments, and within minutes felt the weight of the manor's power. It wore away the protection, forcing Yodaime to struggle more and more to keep them up. By the time he reached the house, sweat dripped down his jaw and plastered his blond hair to his head. His head ached from psychic effort. Gradually, as he entered the courtyard, he felt the hostile presence leave, and the weight of its will disperse . Yodaime sighed with relief and slid slowly to the ground. He lay there, propped up against something solid and cool against his cheek, and slipped into an exhausted half-sleep.

He awoke to the hissing roar of water falling into water. He flicked open his eyes and stood quickly, expecting danger, but then realised where he was. He was here to reclaim his ancestral home from whatever drove it to kill and commit atrocities against all occupants. He felt a fine spray of cool water on the back of his neck and turned. The cold thing he'd slept against had been an ornate fountain. Sculptures of women in flowing dresses poured water from large vases into the pool below. The way they twisted, as if caught during a dance, with their frozen expressions struck him as perverse somehow. As he walked past, his footsteps sounding on the dark stone pavers that reflected the moonlight back dully, their eyes seemed to turn in stone sockets and follow him. He caught himself walking away a little faster.

He entered to the echoes of the old key grating in the older lock and shut the large stain-wood door behind him. He took a deep breath, which triggered a sneezing fit which generally comes from a deep breath of dust. He walked forward on the tiles, absorbing the details of the house. The roof was painted to the likeness of a stormy sky, a collage of clouds of different greys, which stopped, allowing twin curving staircases up through the gap further along the room. The walls were paneled with dark wood carved into ornate patterns of curves and scrolls, which seemed to shift in the musty light that filtered through the dusty curtains. There were doorways either-side of the staircases, and Yodaime picked one at random and followed it. He quickly got lost.

The manor had 100's rooms, each populated by an aura of stillness and curving furniture draped with white sheets. The house seemed to be asleep, either that or it had realized he was alert to its tricks and was waiting to dispatch him in his sleep. He had little intention of sleeping inside the belly of the beast, but he'd long since lost track of the exit and wandered in search of somewhere safe to sleep. Each identical (but different) hallway was lined with identical (but different) doorways which lead into old bathrooms, dressing rooms, reading rooms, kitchens and studies, each one filled with furniture draped with sheets and stillness. It was nearly sunrise and he'd yet to find a bed. He'd wandered and now, as light slipped from the grasp of the draped windows, the strength left his limbs. He'd been running on the hope of a bed and had been denied even that. He slid down the wall with his head resting against the wooden paneling, and then saw into the room opposite. A bed. He raised himself on weary limbs which creaked in protest, and trudged into the room.

It was coloured in creams and whites, with a four poster bed against the middle of the back wall, opposite a dresser with a wide mirror. Yodaime yanked the white sheets off the bed and dresser, his fatigue temporarily forgotten. He reached out and swept a panel of dust from the mirror's surface. Who might this have belonged to? He opened draws and compartments, finding brushes, ribbons and a jewelry box, which was locked. He stopped dead when he caught sight on something in the mirrors reflection. He snapped around, and found nothing there. Put-off by this, he turned back to the mirror. There was nothing there. This was odd because, neither was his reflection.

He noticed a skeleton in a long, billowing dress of many layers, drifting forward. He turned. Nothing there. Back in the mirror, she got closer. No matter how many times he checked behind him, there was nothing there. The skeletal apparition reached the spot where he was standing, in front of the mirror. It was as if he were looking through a window into a matching room. The specter leaned forward. Could she see him? Yes, the way she moved, with her eye-sockets on him, told him she could. She reached out...through the mirror as if nothing existed there at all and ran her cold, dry fingers down his cheek and along his jaw. Her fingers paused before his neck. She looked almost sad...regretful of something she'd done...and something she was going to do. Her fingers tightened into a fist. She screamed. The surface of the mirror exploded outward into slivers of deadly glass. They spun and twirled in slow motion toward him. He couldn't move. One glided through the flesh on his cheek, leaving nothing but an itchy, numb feeling. Movement jolted back into his limbs and he fell backward. The pieces jutted into the back wall, humming with the impact. Yodaime jumped to his feet in case the _thing_ made another appearance, but waited in vain for those long minutes. He checked his skin and found only superficial injuries. He wasn't in any state to heal his injuries. He'd fix his wounds in the morning. He collapsed into the bed…not before re-covering the dresser. A single ray of sunshine slipped between the curtains, and glinted off something silvery, glinting from inside Yodaime's skin.


End file.
